


A Chance of a Beat

by BlueLetteredSkies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: DaveJohn-centric, F/M, M/M, Not everyone is guilt free! ;w;, POV Alternating, Warm Bodies AU, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie!Dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLetteredSkies/pseuds/BlueLetteredSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been a walking corpse for quite a while now, but never once have you taken left-overs. You've also never been swayed by said left-overs. Zombie Apocalypse AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone wakes up.

The first thing you sense when you wake is that you are solid. It feels strange; familiar yet new and foreign.

You exist, you’re corporal.

Your consciousness is very distant at present, as if it were off in the misty periphery of your existence. You can't feel much of anything. However what you _do_ feel, though it is very faint at best, is a tight, musty closeness thinly surrounding an iceberg like mass.

You are that mass.

As the numbing fuzziness begins to fade more advanced cognition kick-starts in your brain.

Where are you? _What_ are you?

The closeness about you grows ever thicker as you begin to recall memories; facts about yourself. Just wait a while, you’ll remember who you are, that cool and hellaciously peculiar guy who was a rapping God. Hell yes. Check it. Check all of it. Check the fecal matter out of it.

Oh hey, the fog that is your awareness is getting clearer. Only moments before (was it seconds, or minutes? Hours maybe? You can’t tell, which you remember being very strange for you) you were feeling so far off, so vast, so numb, but now…

…You feel inescapably smothered.

It’s too tight. It’s overwhelming and cramped in here (wherever that is). You almost feel like one of those Jack-in-the-box toys that kids were supposed to be entertained (but really only got creeped out) by.

You would think you used to know someone who would actually have been entertained by one of those creepy things; he was a respectable but incredibly awkward douchenugget; your guardian. However your situation at hand keeps this tangent thought from really crossing your mind.

Your inner monologue runs dry and you begin to panic. Your surroundings are hard but flimsy at the same time, almost moldy, but also velvet and plush in other parts. All of it, however, is painfully close and confining, like a tiny little box. Its restricting and you can’t handle it.

What was this called again? Claustrophobia? Who knows—

You feel bad for all those untouched Jack-in-the-boxes. If they felt like this you’d have played with each and every God damn one of them.

Well if you are a Jack-in-the-box it’s time to bust the fuck out. So you do.

You begin struggling and thrashing in your confines, pounding against the wood, feeling panicked and in a mental frenzy even though your limbs and movements are sluggish in the most contradictory fashion. Its as if they weren’t connected to your emotions at all.

They’re betraying your vital need to get out. Why won’t the walls move? Holy shit why, why, why just give already, the wood is weak why can’t it just give already you need to get out get me out of here get me out get me out getmeoutLETMEOUT-

Suddenly you’re buried in dirt.

Shit. You aren’t any less panicked. You can’t breathe, why won’t you breathe? Work lungs, c’mon. Dig out dig out dig out, your nails are soon caked with dirt and they’re starting to sting. They’re probably bleeding but God fucking damn it you don’t care, you need to get out, where’s that stereotypical heart-beat pounding in your head? It’s too quite but you still don’t care you need to breathe someone HELP-

The sting of dirt and bleeding fingers is drowned and washed away by the sensation of foreign oxygen invading you. Oh sweet Lord in Heaven hell fucking _yes_ -

You inhale, but…

Your lungs don’t expand.

Your chest won’t rise.

-

There is no heartbeat.

You don’t have one.

You haven’t had one for a long time.

…

You scream.


	2. Typical Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We look at the un-dead life of Dave, then hop over to a life that isn't so groan-filled.

Your name is Dave and you’ve been a limping corpse for quite a while now.

First off, your memory is kind of shitty. It would be best to keep that in mind, if you were someone who was just meeting you. You think when you were alive your memory was pretty good, but now that you’re a corpse it has gone to total shit. You can’t even remember your last name, you wish you did. It’d probably be something really cool to match that natural swag you have going on.

Maybe it was Cruz or some shit, because c’mon how is a cruise not cool.

Bitches love a nice cruise.

Anyway your memory is very sparse and patchy in general. You can’t remember many things, which kind of saddens you, however you do remember _some_ things. You remember your guardian a bit, although his name escapes you, and you remember parts of your education and mental images of your home (you think it was an apartment, you remember some scenes of the roof of a complex). It’s enough to know you had a life before this that had at least some longevity to it.

You wish that you could remember more…but trying to remember makes your brain sting and throb in a way you can’t stand, so you don’t put much effort into remembering.

It’s weird, having this shitty memory; it’s weird being dead altogether…Or was it undead. Indead? Shit why not be positive and call it re-living. No matter what you decide to call it, undead, indead, up-dead or fucking down-dead; it’s still a weird way to exist. You think you’ve adapted well, though.

It’s not like you’re the only one like this around here, the town is overrun with your fellow sludge trudgers. Still, it does get kinda lonely. You were that really mysterious silent guy to the masses even when you were alive, but only having muttered grunts to listen to all damn day kinda sucks. You aren’t about to go moan about it though.

Heh. Get it, Moan. Complaining. You’re a zombie.

Zombies moan if you didn’t know that.

…

Holy shit you are really corny and horrible.

Thank God no one can hear you mentally blather to yourself. It’s your damn skull castle of irony and blathering-shit up in here. Your vassals continuously spit sick fires of generous kingly praise right at your damn feet like vomit after a cinnamon challenge. Oh yes. You are the king, it is you.

Wait, Ew. You don’t want people vomiting on your shoes. Never mind that thought.

Even though you are a limping body nowadays, you at least have some semblance of a social life going. You hang with a few other zombies occasionally, and you even have a hunting partner that you always go find food with; you like to consider him your best bro in this messed up world. In fact, you are on your way to meet said bro right now.

He’s waiting outside the decrepit movie theater you like to dwell in, sitting against the wall. He knows to find you here despite the fact you wander around a lot. After a while you “settled" with this place being your usual stomping ground, if you can even call it that. You don’t really have a real reason for making it the theater, but you like it. Even though food is getting further and further out there, you like to keep returning anyway.

Having something similar to a “home" somehow makes you feel just a little more human. Perhaps thats your reason. 

Sooner or later you’ll have to pack up and go nomad or some caveman shit, but you think that day can wait a little while longer.

Your bro Karkat looks up when you finally make your way over to him (He died at work, you assume, because the only reason you know his actual name is because he’s wearing one of those stupid “Hello my name is" stickers). He doesn’t really react much when you give him a practiced “sup" head-tilt, he just keeps his perpetually grumpy and absent expression. However after a bit he gets up like you wanted.

You two don’t really communicate vocally because its kind of a hassle for some reason, but you can usually understand each other pretty well by tones, gestures, and singular strained words or phrases.

You don’t need language, but you wish sometimes you two could actually have a conversation. You think Karkat would be pretty wordy and long-winded like yourself, but perhaps a lot more cynical.

You both start to head off into a random direction at your typical lopsided cadence, in search of others to join you two.

Its hunting time.

* * *

 

“How many times do we need to tell you that missions are not the time to pull pranks?"

Whoops, Jade is reprimanding you.

“Aw c’mon, it was harmless!"

“Jake ran out of ammo shooting at it!" She lets out a small huff. “That’s kind of valuable equipment you know."

“Ohh relaaax Kiddy, he didn’ hurt anybody." Roxy butts in half-heartedly at your defense as she hands off her pistol.

“Thank you, Roxy. Plus it’s not like Jake cares that much." You point out. She doesn’t retort as quickly as she would have, because she knows you’re right.

Even though Jake is supposed to be the strict Head of the Protect and Scavenge Service, as long as the job gets done he doesn't mind a few measly bullets going to waste,. He's pretty relaxed over all.

Plus he’s the one who fired them all, not you. Totally not your fault.

Jade eventually just sighs and gives up the argument, going off to reload and polish the weapons your group brought back from today’s mission. You view that as a victory and you and Roxy fist-bump before going your separate ways: She to the Administration building to catch up with her sister (and your friend) Rose, and you to start your moderately long walk home.

Your name is John Egbert and you are a grade 2 scavenger.

You and plenty of your friends are dedicated to your job, which is going out into the contaminated zones and scavenging for useful materials like medical supplies, drugs, and even simply food. Your job is one of the most important, or at least that’s what your leader says. He’s the head honcho of this entiiiiree boxed-in community, so it goes without saying that he’s a pretty respected and well liked guy. There are obviously other really important people like your friend Jake and your cousin Jane, who are near the top of the various yet vital sections of your community, but there’s a definite reason why your leader is the end all of big decisions around here, and it’s not just because he’s the main founder.

Even though he’s a pretty tough and busy guy, you and your friends can manage him down to a more easy-going attitude; get him to actually have some fun. Jake is especially good at this. He and Jake had been friends long before the world went to shit, same for Roxy and Jane. The guy has a soft spot for all three of them—you can tell. He might even have one for you too, oddly enough.

He’s kind of a silent and serious guy when it comes to most things. He’s never willing to reveal serious personal stuff, which is why you think he has more beneath even that more easy going facade you coax out of him; a deep regret and sadness you can’t put your finger on. Your curiosity always snags on that inkling of yours whenever you catch him up on the roof of the apartment complex he lives in, which is down by the southern border.

You asked him once why he was up there, what he was thinking about, but he only gave you a fragment of an answer.

“I used to train up here a lot."

You know there’s more, but you didn’t push.

You finally get home and drop your pack on the living-room floor. Jane doesn’t normally get home until around 5 or 6 in the evening, sometimes even later if there’s been a casualty. She’s a pretty important medic, so a lot of people need her. You aren’t surprised she isn’t here. You wander about the house looking for your third roommate, Kankri Vantas.

Kankri is a peculiar man. Normally he’s very wordy, almost to the point of preachy, but he holds his tongue for the most part when at home, something you and your cousin are very thankful for. He works down in administration, and you hear he’s a bit too accommodating and long winded for their liking, but he works hard.

When the community started, people were scrambling to get good housing, and since the ratio of people to suitable homes was quite uneven (its only just thinning out now) it was impossible to have just your own family in your house, many people grouped. When you and your cousin were getting ready to apply, he had approached you both and chatted a bit before requesting to apply with you. He explained that he did not do well in very crowded areas and knew your cousin had some leverage and could get a good place without many people. He also said that he had recently lost his brother and some close friends out beyond the walls of the city, and would not do well on his own in the mass-shelters down at the old Athletics Center if he could not find someone to group with.

Your cousin made some conditions, ones he had readily accepted, and you have been together in the same home ever since.

You’ve gotten very used to one another.

You scoured the house and found neither hide nor hair of the sweater-clad gentleman, so you assume he is still at work as well. You decide to head up to the bathroom to take a nice hot shower, getting the dirty feeling from going outside the city walls off you.

You love showers, they’re so relaxing. You’d thank whoever fixed up the water system around here a million times over if you knew who they were.

When you step out you dry off and get dressed after which you briefly contemplate doing something productive.

Nah.

You end up just bumming around the house like a lazy asshole until someone comes home. The first one to return is Kankri, who asks you to help him prepare dinner. You agree and wander into the kitchen to get cooking. By the time everything is ready Jane walks in the door with her ever-pleasant presence, and you proceed to have a nice typical dinner, small talk included. When everyone is finished you volunteer to clean the dishes and put them away before going back to your room.

You would normally try to find something to occupy your time until you felt it was an appropriate time to go to sleep, but you’re kind of tired from your mission today so you get changed and slide into bed earlier than usual.

The last thing on your mind before you fall asleep is wondering whether or not your next mission tomorrow will be as tiring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more establishing background in the story than plot manuvering uwu we'll get to that next chapter!
> 
> Remember to comment
> 
> -Kel


	3. A Feral Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and his friends fine some food, but when there's an extra, Dave plans on fighting for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where a lot of the violence comes in. Its pretty gory actually. Or, I guess. I don't know! How gory is eating out someone's skull?
> 
> You have been warned!

 

So the group you managed to gather is rather small. However it consists of familiar, liked zombies…plus one.

You totally prefer it that way. Mostly.

There are five of you in all. Which is small and minuscule compared to the mass hordes other zombies love to hunt in. They like to get caught in the frenzy like a bunch of animalistic motherfuckers, and hey, to each their own, but you aren’t like that. You prefer this agile little group of five. It’s nice and intimate. If a smaller group comes back it’s always with spoils for all, rather than only a few at the front getting the actual meal while the rest of you are just there adding the fear factor; never getting any actual food. Frankly you think that’s bullshit, so you and Karkat do this. Little personal recruitment searches.

It’s a smart idea, considering its coming from a couple of maggot-brained idiots.

Currently you are all walking down an abandoned highway. The pavement is craggy and there are cars strewn everywhere. Most of them are wrecked, but some are surprisingly pristine considering the circumstances. Others are burnt to a crisp at the opposite extreme. You’d bet a lot of these cars have been tapped already.

Karkat turns back to you and grunts questioningly, to which you give him a dismissive stare.

_‘Is this bullshit worth staking out?’_

_‘Nah.’_

He continues on after that, the rest of them following his lead as you continue to bring up the rear. This is another reason why you like the little group dynamic. Karkat always takes the physical lead of the group; while you pull strings from the back like a master puppeteer (using that phrase gives you a strange feeling, huh…). You’re a man who likes passive control. Let someone think they got the big title, but hell the guy “in charge" will go to you for everything he needs. You’re that kind of guy (you think).

Like you said, you like the little group hunts. This group is great; perfect.

Except that _one_ fuckin’ guy, just him…

You suppose you should go down the line.

Your first recruit is just a really weird guy. He’s shuffling along closer to the back end like you, trotting at an erratic pace. He’s a peculiar one. For a zombie he’s actually pretty eccentric; you think he could actually babble if ever given the chance.

Too bad it’s completely lost on you. He doesn’t make a lick of fucking sense, and it’s not just because of his profound lisp that most likely comes from a combination of issues he had when he was alive; one of them being his God awful dental situation (They’re like crooked nails for fucks sake). You think he had problems, bad ones. You can’t remember what exactly that refers to, having bad problems that fuck you up like that, but you think it has to do with his head…or maybe his heart.

No, not the heart, you think he’d be angrier and shit if he were fucked up in the heart. However even though he may be beyond repair even more than you are, you actually kinda like the guy; he’s nice. He’s a needed change of pace from the typical. He’s fucked up, spazy and his hair is like a mass of tangled mammoth fur, but like you said, it’s a welcomed difference. You guys are chill.

You’ve resorted to calling this guy Toothy, ‘cause hell if you know his real name and _God_ those teeth are hard to miss.

Just, wow.

Walking next to him is a zombie you have an equally stupid nickname for.

You call this one Edges.

Edges is called Edges because she’s all angles and lines. She has fucking terrifying chompers like Toothy, but hers are straight and precisely jagged, like some kind of chattering shark. She’s terribly lanky and none too tall(she doesn’t eat enough, you can see the rot infecting her abdominal region pretty badly), and her hair sticks about in sharp pointy angles. She definitely fit the profile of a sociopath, but you never knew her before this so its hard to say.!

Wait, what’s a sociopath again…?

Never mind.

Anyway, you think Edges is blind…or was blind. She wears red tinted glasses. You really don’t know if being zombified negates blindness. I mean all your tissues are dead now, right? But you yourself can still see. So maybe now she can too? Like fuck your dead now but here let’s give you the goddamn gift of sight again as a consolation prize.

It’s a nice thought but you remind yourself that things tend not to work like that. That’s a well-known fact you can remember from your previous life. So maybe your tissues aren’t dead for good like the ones in her eyes, but are slowly slipping into some kinda Cell-Purgatory or something.

Cell-Purgatory. Okay yeah this tangent is done. Next guy—

Ugh.

Fuck this guy, you don’t like him.

This is the reason your group isn’t perfect.

This one…the only reason he’s here in the group is because Karkat likes him. You know Karkat gets weird about him, like he feels has some kind of responsibility for him.

You know you’re capable of guilt, so you wonder if Karkat ever feels guilty about the big behemoth slowly losing his flesh.

If you weren’t aware losing your dead flesh is kind of bad. The more you lose the more of an animal you become. Karkat’s friend (Ass-Clown, you dubbed him), is currently going through this. It’s a slow, slow process for some, and a very quick one for others. It depends on the situation really: how much you eat, if you get in fights, if you’re wounded, how often you move etc. How this guy has gotten this far you don’t know. Beyond where his crazy clown-ish hair covers, you can see much of his stalky frame is discolored and there’s old bullet wounds that have festering undead rot in their crevices; some are so deep you can see bone. Seeing bone is bad. His face has fared better than the rest of his body so far, but you can see the skin about his left eye beginning to peel and slough off in three distinct lines. You bet those are the direction of old scars. That eye will be out of its socket and gone by the end of the month, you’d bet on that.

Beyond this grueling appearance he’s a huge prick, constantly picking fights with you over food whenever Karkat drags him with. It’s like that’s all he cares about in the end.

You hate him, but not enough to not feel kind of bad for him.

If he fucks with your catch again though, you will maim him.

As you studied and glanced over your comrades, you have been wandering towards more urban areas in your search for food. You tore apart a few old buildings a couple blocks back but haven’t found much worth pursuing. Humans are smart and they’ve fled, so your expedition is going on longer than you would all like.

It’s been about a day or two, you think, you can’t really remember if it was night time when you first headed out, but now it is definitely mid-day, the lights are bright despite the depressing landscape.

Despite the _lovely_ scenery you’re getting a little bored here.

Luckily it’s not long before you’re met with taller and larger buildings to search. You tear through a convenient store and an office building for about three hours before you hint to Karkat that there’s no way these buildings will yield shit. You both have a groaning disagreement on where to stake out next, an argument that Clown-Ass sticks his chipping nose into. You warned that motherfucker, one wrong move against you and he went down, all in one awful snarl. He only seemed empowered by the response. You would have tussled but Toothy and Edges weren’t having it, neither was Karkat. You had no support so you backed off and started stalking off on your own.

If they didn’t follow your lead well then fuck them.

However they did follow, like you expected. You’re glad, because to be honest turning a hospital upside down is a hell of a job for one corpse. You could do it, but it would take forever, and you have little patience right now, so you’re glad you got their cooperation.

At a first glance, the place seems deserted, but not horribly trashed. It’s a good chance someone could be here, stuck in their bed or impaired and couldn’t get out, but still alive enough to be eaten, and if not well then a hospital is always a place with shit people might need. It’s a place people might intentionally come back to…

So you all scatter and search the floors of the place.

You were in the process of a mental tangent as you searched the first floor bathroom when you heard the shriek. It sends a surge of non-existent blood-rush through you, and you snapped to attention.

While usually you zombies are sluggish and lack-luster, when the scent of food is about you turn into a pack of ferocious wolves.

Though you are normally the fastest of your group by far, you were two floors below the others and the source of the noise, so you end up getting there last.

By the time you made it to the doorway gunshots were being fired into one of your friends; and you hear glasses clatter to the floor. So Edges was the one who found the food. Hm.

That sucks, you kind of liked her; she was creepy but she was more refined, pleasant company than Toothy. Damn.

Oh well, more food for you. Your sadness is over the moment her leaking body hits the floor.

The assessment of your prey is swift: There are four that you can see. Two armed with pistols. It should be easy enough to get a bite.

The Ass-Clown flags down the little one in the green coat. She tries to slice him with some throwing knives but it doesn’t do much, and before she even knows what hit her, the knives are embedded in the wall and she’s on her back. Seeing as that one is all his, Karkat and Toothy go for the taller female of the group. She’s firing off rounds but it doesn’t do much good, within a second her once beautiful flowing hair is being torn out, along with plenty of other things.

While they do that, you fixate yourself on the boy who emptied his round into Edges. You figured out his dilemma before he did, and you’re on him by the time he realizes. His face is ashen and he’s sweating and trembling but you don’t take a moment to hesitate. A swift clench of your jaw down on his jugulars is all you need. He shrieks, but its gurgled and bogged down, because you bit with purpose. It’s easier if you go for the throat, or the neck; it’s harder for the prey to get away, and if they manage to it’s definitely not with their trachea intact. You curl your grubby fingers into his chocolate locks right at the top (you’d grab the sides, but he’s shaved them) and you start to yank his head backwards at an alarming rate.

The merciful crack of his skull sounds a moment later. Your dive down on him and repeat the measure, bashing his innocent little head into the linoleum tiled floor.

This is something you always do, for a number of reasons. It puts them out of commission and into a more swift death so you can eat in peace. If you don’t do it they struggle, they screech in your ear, they plead, they beg, they cry, it is so _annoying._

(You won’t admit it’s to put them out of their misery.)

(You can’t.)

(You’ve always been one to keep your guilt to yourself.)

You pry his skull open and start digging in like the worst of savages. Food has been scarce lately, and your hunger has been screaming at you for weeks. You need to eat, even though it gives you the worst feeling.

_Satisfaction._

You can’t escape the guilt, but you need to eat. You need to consume them. You’re eating people who you used to be one of. These were your people, but now you’re devouring them for survival. You hate that it gives you a rush; that it lets you actually _feel._ It makes you feel like you have a purpose, but what a dark purpose it is. So dark.

Is this what cannibalism feels like?

Wait, this technically is cannibalism isn’t it. Fuck. You’re a cannibal.

Buts it’s either eat or rot.

And you don’t want to rot, not like Ass-Clown over there. You’re far enough from human as it is. You don’t want to go further.

You settled on allowing yourself to eat for this fact alone. You will not let your humanity dwindle any further. This is a promise you’ve made to yourself.

So you consume every morsel of white and grey matter you can scrape out of this young boy’s cranium.

The blood smeared on your mouth and hands make you feel alive almost as much as eating does. You’re so murderous it’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. What the fuck your existence is so morbid—

The friction of heavy metal against the floor vibrates into your skin and the grated sounds hit your ears, sending your train of thought to a screeching halt.

Your head snaps up, and you’re suddenly staring down bright blue irises. He’s young, but not a child; like he’s on the cusp of bodily maturity, only another peak left to go. He’s lean but has some meat on his bones, and he’s got a very healthy, delicious glow. Choppy black hair and blue eyes shielded behind clear square frames, like you and your shades.

The medical supplies he had cradled in his arms clatters to the floor and he suddenly reeks of fear.

His attention is on you before anything else, and you know you’re full but shit he looks like a nice meal—

Mr. Asshole McClowny seems to think so too. Hell no, you are not having this again, he’s elbowed you out of one too many meals. Unlike him Karkat and Toothy are lingering at the door; by the bloodied state of their sleeves they’re done their meal, but they aren’t staring at the last catch with hunger.

They don’t want to be involved with your little spat. Smart idea.

A small scan of the room reveals that there’s no other human left for you to shove the big lug’s attention off on. The raven-haired boy is all that’s left, the others are either already eaten or have fled and this asshole isn’t about to be convinced to go searching. He wants his fat-ass seconds right here right now.

Your eyes meet and he gets into a bit of a crouch. He’s ready to jump the kid, you can see it. It’s that look in that eyes; the stance. His gaze shifts to the kid and then back to you and that is the most challenging and feral smug look you have ever seen out of him. He’s back on his haunches he’s launching—

Fuck that shit. This one is fucking _yours._

You lunge at him mid-leap and intercept him, slamming your lithe body against his crocked frame. You both slam into the cabinet against the wall and get bombarded by shattered glass raining down on you both as the scuffle begins. You’ve wanted to do this for fucking ever and all the floodgates are open, you’re clawing at each other ferociously, tumbling around on the floor, scratching, biting, punching, thrashing, He’s howling, you’re snarling like you have fucking rabies; it’s a murderous bloody frenzy and you’re as free as you’ve ever been. Glass shards are jutting into your skin but you can’t even feel it.

He gets a deep clamp of his jaw on your shoulder, but when he’s preoccupied with that you managed to ensnare your fingers into his blood matted fringe and get a deadly grip. The pressure on your shoulder lessens a bit; he’s in slack jawed and blind shock.

 

You pull him from your shoulder roughly and get in his face. You want him to fucking know. No one messes with you.

_No one._

He’s seen how you work. How you make your kill.

He knows what’s next.

You smash his head into the tiles vigorously. The impacts are harsh and the blows come in rapid succession. You aren’t even going to eat him, this is needlessly cruel but you’re too blind to your temporary loss of humanity to even realize that, you just want him dead—

Oh wow, the tiles cracked. Interesting…

His head is spilling viscous blood into the tile cracks ever so slowly, and you’re done with him. Your attention to him is gone as you turn your gaze back up to the bespectacled boy. Your chest is barely heaving, why would it though, you haven’t needed to breathe since you rose from the ground. Regardless you feel labored as you stalk over to him, your head hung low.

Holy shit he looks terrified, it’s almost kind of funny. However the vicious murder he just witnessed you commit is kind of sinking in now, you really are a monster aren’t you…

You lean in a bit too close for the boy’s comfort. You can tell because his back is so tightly pressed to the wall behind him. He’s holding his breathe and he’s trembling badly.

Even though he’s terrified and you want to eat this guy, you’ve had your fill today. You’re against over eating.

But…

You’re not willing to let him go. You killed for this meal; you aren’t just going to let it walk away now.

Perhaps you can save him for later? You’ve never tried that before. Left-overs aren’t really a thing zombies go for. It’s a buffet life-style. Eat as much as you can but never take any home.

It may be tough but Karkat and Toothy aren’t about to oppose your decisions or fuck with your meal after how you literally mauled and beat the Clown to death(You didn’t miss how Karkat looked upset for a moment but you don’t care enough to feel sorry). Plus, if you dirty and muck him up a bit no one will be able to smell fresh meat. You could get him back well enough to save for a special date.

Shit man lets be novel.

You’ll take him.


	4. Distressed Captivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see John and his confusion addled brain try to make sense of things, and find that someone else has made it back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the break-turned-to-hiatus. :C But I actually have plenty of things backed up now that the writing block has disappeared. I have a more thorough plans for this story so do expect more!!
> 
> So sorry bluhh! Here just read :c

Oh God. Oh God oh God _oh God_.

What the fuck is even going on right now.

One second you were quietly gathering supplies on a successful mission, the next all your young charges are dead, your Med-tech Sollux is MIA, and you are being stared down by a blood-thirsty zombie.

You wish you hadn’t opened the door, maybe if you didn’t they would have missed you. They would have left.

But no, that didn’t happen, and now…

You are fucked. You are _so_ fucked. Oh my God.

The blonde zombie doesn’t seem to be the only one eyeing you. The larger dark haired one (Boy is that some unruly hair!) looks like its drooling at the mere sight of you.

You are dead. Dead and gone oh fuck—

They seem to face off against one another, like to lions fighting over prey, and before you know it they’re at each other’s throats and shattered glass is all over the floor from a collision with the cabinets.

You never thought the blonde would have a chance against the other, but it gets the upper hand and beats the larger into the ground, repeatedly bashing its head into the once pristine tiles. It doesn’t stop until its skull and the floor are equally is bloody and cracked.

You’re scared into a state of paralytic shock when you hear the telltale _thunk_ of dead wait being dropped.

At least you will only have one on you as you get eaten.

‘Cause there’s no way even a zombie can survive blunt head trauma like that.

Oh God, not even Sassacre could survive this. You have no chance here, you’re completely unarmed.

The blonde zombie stalks over to you, its dead eyes trained on you. He keeps coming closer and closer and you press so tightly to the wall you could make a dent in it.

Blegh. He smells like rotting meat and blood. His mouth is covered in it.

Slightly cracked aviators glare back at you but the distance between you two is so close you make out slight details; you can see enough to know that he’s staring right through you.

Yep, this is it. Goodbye world—

A bloodied and slightly grimy hand caresses your face, wiping bloodied filth and stench onto your skin. It goes through this motion a few times in succession with a surprisingly gentle touch. You were unaware that zombies were capable of being gentle.

The blonde draws back, and grabs your arm, pulling you up onto your feet. Its grip isn’t the strongest ever, but you can’t shake it off when you try pulling away.

You resign to your fate while it turns its head to the other two male zombies in the room. It gives a creaky nod to the one with a name tag and starts tugging you to the door by your wrist.

The four of you all head out of the building at a slow, but steady pace, not once do any of the zombies in your group, or the ones you pass by, give you more a second glance.

This is weird. Why the hell aren’t they eating you? That’s what zombies _do!_ They eat you! Not take you on a fucking walk down the street. It’s like they’re dragging you to the damn mall or something.

You stew in your confusion over the current situation for quite some time before the topic gets over-thought and your attention span fries.

After that your eyes begin to wander. You’ve spaced out in panic for over an hour at the least, so studying your surrounding doesn’t do you much good when it comes to escaping, but you do it anyway.

The dull sky and shattered landscape don’t give you a pleasant train of thought to follow; it just makes you think of how things used to be, and how awful they are now in comparison. Half the world is dead and every day is a struggle.

You don’t want to continue there so you turn your attention to the group you’ve suddenly become a part of.

The Name-Tag wearing zombie doesn’t have much to him beyond the typical; some rotting flesh and disheveled hair. He looks perpetually grumpy and unhappy, and considering he’s dead you don’t blame him for looking that way.

The other one in front of you looks like a dentist’s worst nightmare. You bet he’d had to be held down to get his teeth looked at because even as a zombie he seems awful twitchy.

Lastly you look slightly to the left, eyes resting on your captor. He seems…strange. Beyond the splotches of blood coating his face and the shades he’s sporting you can’t make many observations about him. He’s a few inches taller than you and his frame is mildly lanky. You wonder if that’s from malnutrition or if he was like that even before he died. That’s a question you probably won’t get the answer to though so you don’t dwell on it.

He’s rather preserved, you note, as he tugs you through a doorway, his grimy hand still leading you as you both walk.

He’s dirty, bloody, and slightly greasy from not showering, but his skin in and of itself is in good condition. As far as you can see of his pale, fair complexion, it’s marred with scar tissue and old wounds but you don’t see a large amount of discoloration. There are no bones in plain sight either; at the most he has some decomposing patches creeping up his neck.

You wonder how long he’s been dead; it probably hasn’t been too long if he’s in such a decent condition.

Decent for a zombie anyway, which is still pretty awful.

The sound of a metal door shutting resonates behind you and you notice that you’re in an old, junk cluttered theater room. The hell?

He pulls you to one of the seats and presses on your shoulder so you sit. After that he lets you go, and shuffles awkwardly to the door you entered through.

Upon inspection it appears to be the only exit.

What happens now? He’s, still not eating you. You don’t get it. What’s going on?

Maybe there’s such a thing as alpha zombies. Maybe he brought you to give to someone else? It’s a passing thought but you feel zombies aren’t that aware of things to think of others.

He doesn’t bother you and your confusion addled brain, but he doesn’t leave the room either. He’s blocking the exit, and with the moment of stillness your confusion subsides and things sink in.

You’re trapped, and all your teammates are dead.

They counted on you, you were supposed to lead them, protect them! And now they’re gone…you didn’t know them too personally but…

Nobody will see Nepeta drawing anymore.

Feferi’s bubbly talks about marine life are through.

Tavros isn’t going to try to rap ever again.

And Sollux, Oh God…

You didn’t see his body amongst the others when you were pulled from the room, but he’s probably gone too, it’s been at least four hours.

Your passive and biting banter with Sollux will never happen again.

Tears flood and distort your vision. Tucking your legs into your chest they begin to flow as you grieve for them. They’re gone, they’re gone and they’re never coming back.

Their families will never see them again. You couldn’t save them, just like you and Jane couldn’t save Dad.

As you break down in the ripped rusty theater seat, pulling your hair and sobbing, your captor sits in unmoving silence.

* * *

 

Metal doors screech shut amidst heavy breathing.

“Sollux? W-Where is the rest of the team? You guys should have been back hours ago!"

A pause.

“Sorry, Jake, they--" _huff huff_   "I—"

“Where _are_ they Sollux."

“W-We got ambushed…Nepeta, Fef and Tavros are all dead…"

“Shite, this is awful. Are you sure? Maybe the—"

“No, they’re dead, for certain."

“Oh Hell...”

…

“What about John?"

“John, he…I don’t know."

“What? What do you mean you don’t know!?"

“I mean I didn’t see his fucking corpse asshat! So I don’t know!"

…

“Alright, alright, let’s calm down. You’re shaking."

“Fuck you, don’t touch me, English. I’m not a damn child."

“But you did see about three people die right in front of you. Anyone would be shaken. Let’s get you to the hospital to get treated. That gash looks nasty."

“Nothing to a crushed skull...”

“Huh?"

“Nothing."

…

“What’s going to happen with John? Do we just assume he’s dead?"

“I’m gonna talk with Dirk about it, but I don’t see him saying we shouldn’t search for him. He’ll probably at least let us search _once_."

“Right…"

“C’mon, let’s go. The quicker you get patched up the better."


	5. Contradictory Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see John's internal feelings about the recent turn of events and a change in them after a little scuffle, after which introductions are made in a very slipshod manner.

“Dirk!"

“This better be quick Jake, I’m a little busy—"

“Your business can wait, this is bloody important."

“Fine, go."

“You know how we sent John on his first scavenge as leader yesterday?"

“Yeah?"

“Sollux was the only one to return."

“Fuck—"

“He said all the younger recruits were dead from the ambush."

“I see."

“But he also said he didn’t know if John was dead or not."

…

“Not to be pessimistic here… but he probably is, Jake. People don’t last long out there by themselves."

“Don’t dismiss this so quickly, it could be the difference between life and death for someone very important to _both_ of us."

“Jake, be realistic-"

“I am being realistic. John could be alive out there; we can’t leave the possibility hanging."

“It’s not wo—"

“Don’t you fucking say that. I will shove my damn foot up your arse. Don’t."

"…"

“Don’t let the past distort this possibility."

Sigh.

“I assume you want to go yourself for this?"

“Not alone, but yes."

“Use as little resources as possible. As long as you’re conservative I don’t care if you head out."

“I will."

…

“Should I tell Jane, or you?"

“I will; if you do you’ll just waste time."

“So blunt Mr. Strider! As you wish!"

“Bluh, don’t call me that, it makes me feel old."

“I think it’s spiffy. Makes you seem top notch."

"…Just go gather a team and head out in a couple hours when you’re ready, Jake. And don’t say ‘spiffy’ ever again."

“Well then. Wish me luck!"

“Good luck."

* * *

 

It’s been about a day or so, you think. You can’t really tell, not much has happened in that time and it’s impossible to see the sun from within bowels of this decrepit movie theater.

Your captor hasn’t done all that much, and you haven’t either. He just wanders to the front of the room sometimes and shuffles through the piles of miscellaneous crap until he becomes bored again and wanders back to the door to block it.

You’re getting pretty fed up with it all. He hasn’t so much as made a sound, and the only reason you know he’s still aware of you is because he stares at you every few hours.

If he’s waiting for something you don’t feel like waiting with him. A day ago you felt there was no use in fighting or running, but he hasn’t even touched you since you got here and his patterns are becoming predictable to the point you actually feel you might be able to take him out.

And you’ve come to the decision that you are going to do just that. For the people him and his damn accomplices have killed, your team included. You need to avenge them, it’s the only thing you can do for them now.

You aren’t about to let someone else die like that again. You’ve been a wimp for too long, it’s time to fight!

You hear him shift behind you, pulling up from his sitting position on the floor.

Scuffled steps make their way to you and you tense, did he figure out your intentions?

No, he walks right on past at his usual pace, heading for the front of the room again.

Now is a good a chance as any so you spring out of your seat and jump him, hoisting all your weight onto his backside, swiftly knocking him off balance and nearly sending him into the floor.

However he manages to stays on his feet and turns faster than you expect. He ducks down and tugs you forward, causing you to roll off his back and slam into the floor. Before you know it he’s aiming a swing at you, one that you narrowly avoid. You get hit in the shoulder as you pull up to clock him in the side of the head.

He stumbles again and his glasses are thrown slightly askew from the blow, but he’s far from through. This is harder than you thought. You face off, both of you unwilling to back down.

He lunges at you as you grab for his throat.

You both end up toppling into the carpeted floor in a heap of limbs. You’re trapped under him but he hardly weighs anything so you shove him off and starts aiming blows to his head again. He does the same, with occasional kicking and more grabbing at your arms and wrists.

This asshole, this… _monster_ , is more coordinated that you’ve seen before. He’s definitely different.

You manage to punch him square in the nose. The impact sends his sunglasses flying off his face. Though he doesn’t bat an eye, the reveal of his face throws you.

Before you can snap out of it his firm grip has you, and you’re pinned to the floor.

Fuck.

You struggle under him but he keeps a steady hold on you. How? He’s a rotting, undead monster! How can he have enough muscle left to keep you down?

This is shit. You’ve failed. You couldn’t even do your comrades enough justice by killing one of these assholes. You got in some strong hits but it wasn’t enough.

Anger and frustration boil under your skin as you continue to struggle. You glare up at him.

When crimson meets cerulean your stomach drops.

His face is stone but his eyes are a storm trapped behind an undead fog.

Beyond the fog is a garnet pool of emotion.

Hunger

Doubt

Pain

Confusion

Conflict

Fear

Guilt

_Desperation_

This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

You should only feel hatred. You’re staring at a monster, not a person. He’s just a rotting corpse. A corpse shouldn’t feel. A corpse is cold and emotionless. It feeds and rots and that’s it.

It shouldn’t be making you feel like this.

But…

You can’t deny what’s staring you right in the face. You can’t.

The body is dead, moving on mainly instinct before anything else. What you see now isn’t alive.

But in a time before this, he was human. He was someone just like you. He had a family, friends, interests, hobbies.

And he remembers this. You can see it. The only reason he would feel guilt was because he knows.

_‘This was me once.’_

And he has a problem with his need to eat the living.

That’s why you can’t be mad. You can’t hate him. There are remnants of a person inside.

The anger seeps out of you in waves, and you stop struggling. He (again) doesn’t harm you, and lets your wrists go before standing. It’s as if he was only fighting with you to let you get your tantrum out of the way.

This guy makes no damn sense.

…

He heads back to the door and you sit up, staring at his back all the way.

Its then that it occurs to you; if he can remember enough to feel guilty, maybe he remembers who he once was. If he has memories of the previous life he had, maybe parts of a personality remain as well?

It’s worth finding out at least.

“Hey."

He pauses before cranking his head to look back at you. His shades are back on his face, though you don’t remember when he picked them up.

“My name is John. Do, um, _you_ have a name?"

He tilts his head questioningly, a humming sound coming from the back of his throat.

“Can you, er, remember it?" You think this may have been too much to hope for.

…

“Dave."


	6. Varied Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We hear some more background conversations, and John and Dave act like dumb dorks who don't notice their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL FINISH A MULTICHAPTER FIC OR DIE TRYING
> 
> P.S. College sucks.

So it’s safe to say this guy is strange.

You never expected human interaction in the form of conversation; any human you ever came across that was still alive was too afraid of you or too fueled by anger and adrenaline to make small talk.

So when he asks your name after his little anger fit you aren’t really sure how to react. Of course the easy way to deal with it would be to _not_ react, but you feel like humoring him; he is afraid, alone, and unsuspecting at this point. You are also reminded of the familiar feeling of solitude that has (thankfully) been absent since you dragged him here.

“Dave." You answer simply. It takes him a minute or two to process it, but when he does he breaks into a small smile. You don’t get why that is.

“So you do remember it. What about a sur name?"

Sur name?  What…

The confusion must be apparent on your face. “You know; a sur name. It’s like a family name. For example mine is Egbert."

Blink. "…Oh. Last name."

“Yeah! So? You must have had one at some point right?"

You probably did, but you can’t recall it. You vaguely remember thinking about this idly a little while ago but it’s such a loose recall you can’t figure out if you made any leeway there or not.

You respond in the negative and shake your head.

“Oh, that kinda sucks." The kid, John, says in reply.

The two of you stew in a mildly awkward silence, you standing by the door and John sitting on the floor where you left him. You had been in silence a whole two days without noise, but now it’s unbearable.

“So why a movie theater? Do you always come here?"

“S’nice. Warm."

“Oh, yeah it is kinda warm here. Then again this is Texas; everything tends to be warm around here."

"Texas?"  That sounds familiar.

“Yeah, it’s where we are right now. Texas is a southern state in the U.S."

Something seems to click in your head at that.

“The United States."

“Of America, yeah." John seems happy you can remember that. You _still_ don’t get why. Bluh, whatever.  Your head is starting to sting, and you feel pretty dumb compared to John right now.

“Houston. That’s…here. Yeah?"

“Mhm."

“Hm."

…

“There a reason why there’s piles of junk in here?" John just keeps on spewing the questions on his mind.

You never really gave it that much thought. If you saw something on your outings, you took it and brought it back. Simple as that.

You shrug, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that. He seems to study you more as you walk closer and ease yourself into one of the seats like an old fart.

“Does moving around hurt?"

“Sometimes."

“Sometimes? Is it like with specific movements, or?"

“Rigor mortis. Things get…stiff. Stays that way. Or you lose shit."

“Oh, so that’s why you guys walk weird? Because Rigor mortis and degrading muscles?"

You nod. “If y’still, have the muscles. It’s not…too bad."

Your voice is starting to get even more coarse and raspy than usual as you two talk. You haven’t spoken this much in forever. You can’t remember the last time. It’s always been far too difficult and when both you and your companions have a shit time just opening your mouth and trying to coordinate sounds into half remembered syllables you eventually just give up.

But conversing with John is…nice. Having company is nice.

You feel you’re starting to reconsider the leftovers thing.

——

“Sollux? I made dinner come downstairs; you must be heeeellz of hungry since you just got back from the infirmary. C’mon."

“M’not hungry Tula, go away."

“Aw c’mon. You need to eat! Come downstairs. I ain’t lettin’ my food go to waste."

“No."

…

“You’ve been more shut off than usual, Sollux. What’s goin’ on up in your head, huh?"

…

“Well? You know you can tell me. We’re like siblings at this point! Heh."

…

“On the mission…you know how I told you we got ambushed and all..?"

“Yeah?"

“It…" A frustrated sigh. “Tula I saw ‘em."

"…you mean Mituna."

“Your cousin and KK, too."

“Ah…So wishing Karkat made it out alive was too much to hope for then, it seems."

“Apparently so…maybe if we had found him befor—"

“We can’t think of what ifs anymore Sollux. What happened, happened and we can’t change it…no matter how much we want to."

"…I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t kill any of them."

“It’s a hard thing to do, Sollux. Killing. It’s even more impossible when it’s someone you care about."

Sigh.

“Before AT died he brought TZ down, so at least she’s not coming back."

“But Tuna and Karkles are still around, huh?"

“Yeah."

…

“Alright…come down when you’re hungry."

* * *

 

You think it’s been another day, or just about at least, and you’ve learned quite a few things about the blond dork zombie known as Dave.

For one even though he has no reason and its dark as hell in this room, Dave doesn’t remove his shades. You told him that was dumb, but he shrugged you off, not caring much for your opinion.

You then asked if he was blind to which he growled at. You backed off quickly after that. He may be willing to speak, but he still kind of scares you. Just a little bit.

At the moment you are both rummaging about the piles of junk in the front of the room, looking for anything interesting.

“You think you would know what you have in here. You check it just about every hour."

He makes a hum noise again and shrugs stiffly.

“You never actually look at what you’re holding do you—"

“Nope."

“You’re such a logical man, Dave. Really. I am jealous.”

“My logic…defies laws.”

That’s another thing; he’s very keen on sarcasm. Although he speaks with fewer words than most and sometimes his voice is so raspy and strained it’s hard to understand, he can tell pretty clearly when you’re being sarcastic with him or not. Jokes aren’t completely lost on him.

You’re thankful for that because otherwise your prankster’s gambit would be as dead as he is.

Heh, you gotta admit that was a good one. You are a _genius_.

Oh yes.

You continue to rummage through useless things until your fingers brush against familiar flimsy plastic limbs.

“Oh man, sweeeet!"

You switch your proper glasses with the classiest of prankster apparel, beagle puss. You were _not_ expecting such sweet loot to be amongst this hoarded crap.

You turn to face Dave and find he’s already staring in your direction.

“These things are the best. Right?"

He doesn’t reply quickly, but

“You look like Colonel."

“Colonel Sassacre?"

“Sanders."

Dave sure is weird.

“Sassacre is better than Sanders."

“No."

“You are so in the wrong. Chicken can’t beat masterful pranks."

“But pranks with chickens, John."

…

“Ohhhh shit that is a great idea—" You start thinking of all the great pranks you can pull with poultry as Dave snags the beagle-puss from your face, replacing them with your regular glasses before wandering back to another pile.

* * *

 

Ring Ringgg.

Ring Ringgg.

“Hold on just a moment, please!"

Thump. Click.

Tap Tap Tap.

…

“Ah, Latula." A smile. “It is nice to see you. We’ve neglected to stay in touch as of late."

“Shyaah, it’s been like, weeks! Sorry about that."

“It’s quite alright….Would you like to come in? I can make tea if you like."

“Yeah, but uh, scratch the tea Kanks, you know I’m not into that stuffy crap."

“You’ve still neglected to tell me how tea is considered ‘stuffy’, Latula."

“It just is! What do peeps curl up in a dark shelfy room with while reading some boring book? Tea! Boring leafy tea."

“Well you’re entitled to your opinion but I for one find that activity to be quite enriching. Also I do not think ‘shelfy’ is a word."

“So what? Anyway I came here to talk."

“I can see that. We are currently conversing, you know."

“I ain’t dead Kanks, I just can’t smell. I hear what we’re doing. Can we just get to the topic at hand?"

“And what is that topic?"

“Karkat."

…

“Go on."

“Sollux, saw him with Mituna and Terezi on his last mission…"

“Were they alright? Did he—"

“No."

Sigh.

“That is…unfortunate."

“It shouldn’t be a surprise, Kankri. We knew when we made it here that there was only a marginal chance that they would survive. We were all separated for too long."

“I suppose…but Karkat was always vigilant, I had thought he would…his stubbornness would have saved him in times of peril."

“They had little supplies when the gas station got attacked. And if we had waited for them we would have been dead too. What we did was our best shot."

“I know…"

“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad; I only came to tell you because you deserve to know the answers to the questions you’ve been holding onto."

“Yes…Thank you."

“I should get going…"

“Latula—"

“Huh?"

“I’m sorry."

“I’m sorry too, Kanks."

* * *

 

“Dude, c’mon, one more board game. Pleeaaaseee?” His whining is starting to hurt your head as much as these stupid fucking board games. They were fun but you honestly are getting tired of them..

“No.”

“Dave, you’re the most boring zombie I’ve ever met.”

“Is that ‘cause I’m the only one you’ve met?”

“….No. Nope. I have a plethora of zombie friends.” He lies. “We have corpse parties all the time.”

“Corpse parties.”

“Yeah, corpse parties, and you’ll never be invited to any of them!”  He laughs like an ironic and equally as shitty cartoon villain. You figure sticking a piece of the Jenga tower in his nose would shut him up well enough.

“Ack! Hey cut it out—“ 

Perfect solution.

“For that you gotta play monopoly with me. “  
  
“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Fuck.

“Fine.”

You two play monopoly for far too long. You end up in jail ten times and John managed to get the red houses on pretty much everything before he let you tap out of the game. You’re thankful to be done because _God_ Monopoly is boring and frustrating as fuck and you know that you were a much happier man forgetting this game even existed. Seriously.

John is starting to look tired as well while he puts the board and the pieces away. You two haven’t done anything excruciating but play dumb games, but you don’t blame him for feeling tired. You feel tired too, for some reason.

You take the box from him when he’s done putting things away, but he tries to argue with you about where it should go.

“Don’t put it back in there, we’ll never find it again!” He exclaims.

“Good.”

“Rude. What if Mr. Monopoly suffocates in that pile of crap?”

“No one will care. He is the…” fuck, that joke was fantastic too. Why can’t you remember the name of that damn thing. The thing from the cookie dough commercials you remember watching.

“Dave?”

“Uh—“

“Can’t remember what it was?”

You shake your head, letting it go rather than getting frustrated further.  John doesn’t dwell on it long either, instead getting up and heading to the chair he’s been sleeping in since you brought him. Sinking down into the chair he looks back in your direction.

“Dave you smell awful.”

“Hm?”

“You smell like rotten garbage.”

“Every zombie smells like rotten garbage John.” You don’t really know what he’s trying to get at.

“That’s because you guys don’t shower. Like, at all. You should clean yourself up it would do you some good.” His suggestion doesn’t seem like a bad idea, but for some reason you feel averse to leaving the movie theater for anything besides finding Karkat or getting a meal for yourself.

“Eh.”

“Oh c’mon.” He really isn’t giving up on this is he? “Isn’t there a river nearby? We should go there and get washed up.”

You really don’t like that idea for some reason. It just doesn’t feel right. However you find yourself nodding stiffly.

“In the morning.” You tell him, slumping back down in your spot by the door.

John just curls up with the shitty blanket you gave him, and yawns. “How can you even tell its nighttime in here?”

“Dunno.”

“You’re a weirdo, Dave.”

You’d tell him that no, _he’s_ the weirdo, he’s talking to something that he should have killed, but you’ve done what you though was previously impossible.

You fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Never feel you can't leave comments and feedback! C: I always read it. Suggestions welcome too. 
> 
> \--Kel


End file.
